


Dyl's Dough

by AzulMountain



Series: Erotic Pastry Shop for the Supernatural [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Mpreg, Anal Sex, Breeding Kink, Come Eating, Food Sex, Kitchen Sex, Knotting, M/M, NSFW Art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzulMountain/pseuds/AzulMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles discovers the supernatural world through odd cake requests as a decorator for an erotic pastry shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dyl's Dough

**Author's Note:**

> Edited August 1, 2014- extensive grammar issues, sorry about the first attempt. I am a horrible editor. Also the dessert kink got notched up a bit, this thing just gets dirtier and dirtier.
> 
> We'll see about a sequel since everyone seems excited about Mpreg (which I think is hot), so it's likely you'll read more soon....?
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome :) AzulMountain

 

* * *

 

 

“Stilinski!”

Stiles' brush bumps into the cake he is carefully dusting with gold leaves, cracking into the fondant layer that took him four times to roll big enough. _Crap!_ He’ll have to see if there are any leftover scales in the back to cover the hole. Otherwise the client will have him by the balls when he drops off the cake in an hour.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Hale account, stag and bridal shower cakes, had complaints.”

“Ah yeah, the eight tit cake and the huge knot dick, I remember.”

Six weeks ago, Stiles believed himself to be jaded to anything the erotic cake industry might uncover when he applied for the job at Dyl's Dough. The newly graduated eighteen year-old was hired on the spot for part time summer work as a junior decorator. As the youngest employee in the shop, he took to the job with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm his father, the Sheriff, would definitely not feel knowing his college bound son was making pornography with sugar and crumbs. 

Stiles’ father thinks he is working at the chain grocery store in the bakery section. Not at the dubious Dyl’s Dough, located in the higher crime zone of old downtown. The run down strip hosts pawn shops, next to gun shops and cruddy bars, and one lone cake shop. But Stiles sweetened his junk-food deprived father with pastry leftovers to bribe the man from asking too many questions. It was just a matter of scraping off the naughty icing bits from the leftovers and the man remained perfectly clueless and content. 

As an aspiring porn addict, Stiles really had no qualms about working in Beacon Hills’ only erotic bakery, until he discovered Beacon Hill's hosts an alarming number of furries (people with a fetish for animal-human hybrids). Stiles prodigious collection of internet porn was not nearly comprehensive enough to cover the gross spectrum of kinkiness going down in fondant and chocolate by the pounds. Bestiality was a whole new level to his experimental summer before college plan, he never even thought about until he took this job.

And many of Dyl's clientele happen to be these depraved souls. Their sweet tooth for furry food averages seventy percent of erotic bakery's weekly orders. Of course there are still the expected level of normal erotic pastry orders, but the typical dick pops, nipple adorned cupcakes, and dildo cakes only cover about thirty percent of the cakes and sweets that Stiles decorates.

Time and exposure have made Stiles adapt. No longer shy about the requests from the questionable clients describing their orders to the smallest details like the length of pubic hair, color, curly or smooth, thin spread or bushy, etc. he is not paid to judge.

Google may or may not have contacted the authorities regarding his search history. Researching for his job has led him from canine reproductive organs to various creatures' rear ends, exhibiting the proper alignment of the creature's puckered asshole with its tail. Sure, the delicate structure of pixie wings seemed vanilla compared to his other confection endeavors. Until he considered the theme of the cake was an orgy of small bodies with sugar spun wings to mark the celebration for a couple's sixtieth wedding anniversary. Stiles doesn't even want to know what geezers shot their rocks off to the tangled naked androgynous looking Tinker Bells going at it. 

A week ago, Stiles got the shock of his life when the love of his depressing high school years and her douche boyfriend crossed the threshold of Dyl's Dough. Stiles was so dumbfounded that his boss, Old Man Dylan –a former porn star turned confectionery connoisseur; first by gaining a hundred pounds and then as owner of this small business- took the strawberry-blonde's order for a giant reptilian cock.

Learning not to question the nature of the client's request was one of the first lessons Old Man Dyl taught Stiles. Curiosity -especially when it concerned Lydia, got the better of him and he demanded to know why she wanted that design. Of course his answer was a bitchy version of 'just make the cake because you're not paid to ask why' from the woman he thought he knew. Jackson's reply was a bit crueler because he punched him in the gut and then threatened him into keeping quiet about his eighteenth birthday cake. And no for all his hard work, Stiles doesn't get an invite because he wasn't invited, he’s help. 

Lydia, the girl of his dreams, was very circumspect about the proportions and look.  Stiles wondered how she got a reptile that big to cooperate for the photographs because her documentation covered every angle of the reptile’s dick. The zipped files regarding her design were very daunting to make absolutely perfect. And he just punctured a hole through the left testicle with his brush.  _Damn it!_

\----

He closes the laptop screen showing the anatomy of a reptilian erection, ejects Lydia’s flash drive, and turns to focus on the owner’s mumbled words relaying the unhappy customer’s criticism.

“… the head was not proportionate to the staff and the wrong color. The glands were not glistening with enough sugar cream. The cream didn’t ejaculate because the wiring for the pump was wrong. When they got the motor to work the blackberry seeds plugged the tube. The knot wasn’t swollen enough… the veins looked fake and started cracking off the cock, before they even got to the cake and you used too much zest in the cake batter. She said it was too lemony. The guy said the tits got flat, structurally a nightmare to move, but tasted great.”

“Wow, okay. Sorry.”

“She wants you to do the cake over for her girlfriend’s night out, which is tomorrow night. She is bringing material with her today that will make it easier to do better than the last pathetic attempt.”

“Ah- but I have set up for the Martin cake delivery…“ Stiles’ was going to set up and crash the party despite his lack of an invitation and Jackson’s threat he’d smash his face if he went.

“She’ll be in after hours, as will you until the bloody thing is finished. The Hale’s are good customers, so don’t mess this up.” The fat bastard hocks a loogy  onto the bakery floor then waddles into his office leaving Stiles to clean up the mess. The health department should shut this slave driving slob out of business.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m Laura Hale, but you already know me. Don’t you, Stiles Stilinski?” The beautiful woman smirks cruelly with crimson red lips, taking in the younger man she last saw when he was ten years old. She doesn't look impressed. “Believe me, when I called Old Dylan to complain, I was pretty disappointed to hear you were the idiot behind the bridal shower fiasco… you were always the cockroach spaz on the block scurrying under our feet, it’s no wonder you would botch the job.”

_Bridzilla cunt._

“Come on Laura, you’re being a bitch. The kid did a good job. It’s just your wedding jitters holding every little detail to an unattainable perfection. You’re practically emasculating the poor guy. I thought the cakes looked great, which is why this is a really stupid idea.” Derek Hale grumbles at his furious sister. And man if the lanky teen Stiles used to follow around like a puppy, hasn't grown up tall, dark, and handsome.

“Shut up, Derek! Tommy agrees with me on the crap job this little shit did.”

Stiles is relieved some of the heat of the witches ire is off him, even for a moment.

“Tommy agrees with you because he’s the sap marrying you. He’d be stupid to cause problems when you’re in one of your snits. Besides sister, _you catch more flies with honey than vinegar._  He’ll probably spit in your cake.”

“No! I wouldn't. Jesus, Derek, you want her to slug me, you’re not helping. Laura, I understand your concerns and will do all I can to improve and make this the dream cake your girlfriends will envy. I just need the materials and I’ll get right on it. The spiced walnut cake has cooled and seedless blackberry cream filling ready to go. I just have to kneed the fondant to the corrected flesh tone and we’ll be set.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Laura finally seems rational enough to deal with –as rational as any sane person ordering a dog cock for a bridal shower can be. “Great then, get to it. Since Tommy’s bitch of a mother is in town early, I have plans. Derek will fill you in.”

“Laura, please.” Derek’s whine is desperate and hey Stiles can get that because he really doesn't want to point out the finer details of an engorged animal cock with his childhood idol- it does funny things to his dick. Things he is sure the straight man doesn't want to witness.

“DO IT!” Laura roars at Derek. Stiles holds a baking sheet over his head at the frightening sight of the unhinged bride and misses her eyes glowing red.

The shop door has long since slammed shut, before Stiles pulls the half-sheet away and crawls out from behind the flour and sugar sacks. “Oh my god, your sister is like the PMS-ing bridezilla from hell. No offense.”

“I won’t tell her you said that because she probably heard it straight from your mouth.”

Sure enough, Laura comes stomping back to the shop from across the street, and peers in the dirty window at Stiles with a stare that can only mean his certain death. Stiles races to the door and flicks the four locks (bad neighborhood) and pushes button for the automatic grill. It slams closed in front of her, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“Show him good, Derek!” She cackles madly.

For a moment Stiles thinks he sees the stuff of nightmares pass over her beautiful face. Stiles quails as goosebumps race over his skin at the ominous feeling her words command. He is just happy the monster is locked out and he is safe inside with Derek.

“Scary, I always forgot you guys have like super hearing as a kid. Someone always knew I was waiting in the alley behind your family’s the car park for you-” remembering a bit late that family is a touchy subject after the fire.

The Hales had only lived on his block for less than two years while the family worked to restore their two century-plus year old manor in the backwoods of Beacon Hills. Red taped by the local historic foundation, it took a lot of time and permits to balance the family of eleven’s modern needs with the integrity of historic fabric fashioning the house. With the city’s now defunct industrial era architecture slowly falling by the way of contemporary styles, the county board of planners fought teeth and nail to keep the house as is. Talia, one of the eight people killed in the fire, had just moved her family back in to the completed manor, leaving Stiles lonely for Derek’s company. It wasn't too soon after that Stiles' mother died and then most of the Hales died, too.  He was dismayed that the Hale draggles moved back to the area and he hadn't heard a word from the man, he once considered his older brother.

Derek motions for his crazy sister to back off. She fogs up the window with her breath and writes her letters backwards, so Stiles can read: _I hope you can’t walk_ … Stiles doesn't read the rest because Derek rushes over and says, “Forget her, and let’s just get this over.”

Stiles looks back to see Derek’s sister is already half way to her car and doesn't appear to be waiting for Stiles to get off work to smash his head in. He gives Derek a nervous smile following the leather clad Adonis and sidles up to commercial grade metal table, where his work space carefully organized. He reaches for his computer and boots it up, expecting an anal-retentive-Lydia-Martin level of detail Laura desires to be stored on a USB.

But instead of reaching into his tight jeans for a stick, Derek does the strangest thing he starts unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his dick.

By the time Stiles has the wherewithal to ask what the hell the man is doing, Derek already has had time to give the waking organ a couple pumps. 

“Holy fuck! What are you doing?” Stiles scrambles back knocking the stool behind him into the commercial washing machine. The bash of the metal ringing in the spacious kitchen,\ is nothing compared to the thud of his heartbeat shattering his ear drums.

“Giving you a live model for your creative process,” Derek cocks his head to the side not seeing the point of Stiles’ hysteria. Sure dirty old Dyl has probably had a prostitute or thirty in his office after hours, but Stiles is pretty sure he and the health department would frown at a man wanking over food in the kitchen.

“Um, that’s awesome- I mean uh,” Stiles brains is lost in the right hand’s motion, unable to find a coherent thought in-between his ears as he watches Derek languidly stroke and twist his member to full hard on.

“It will be easy to exhibit my knot because I can tell you’re aroused by watching me.”

“Knot? You have a knot? I thought you were going to share tips on Fido mounting Mrs. Fennel’s poodle, not whip out your manly bits, which is fine because gods- ”

“Is that what you were thinking when you designed Laura’s cake. It's no wonder she was pissed about the shape. A dog’s dick tappers and is bright red all the way to the sheath. Male werewolves have human shaped dicks. The tissue at the base that swells as we ejaculate to keep the seed in and breed the bitch.”

Derek’s succinct explanation sails over Stiles head. He is too caught up on the word: werewolves. His brain slowly chugs along with the discombobulated facts. _Derek is showing me his dick. He claims to have a knot. Therefor he is a werewolf because as much as I spank the monkey, I have never had such a reaction because I’m human. Humans don’t have knots. Therefore Derek is not human because he is a werewolf._ _Holy shit._

“You’re a werewolf!” Stiles pitching voice breaks in disbelief and excitement. Not at all concerned he’s locked in the same room as a real werewolf, only excited that he locked in the same room as Derek.

“Well yeah.” Derek draws out the clear obvious fact.

Stiles’ jaw drops. He is incapable of feeling fear because Derek Hale, unknown donor of most of his spank bank material, is jerking off not five feet away. Whining happily that his fantasy come true, then he pouts as Derek motion slows to a stop.

Dick still standing rigid and glistening from the un-captured pearl decorating the slit, Derek looks at the flabbergasted expression on Stiles’ face, juxtaposed to Stiles’ drool and labored panting as the younger man keeps his blatant stare on Derek’s cock. “You didn't know? How could you work in a fucking supernatural friendly erotic cake shop and not know?”

“ _What?_ Dyl’s caters to the supernatural? I thought Beacon Hills just had an ordinarily high interest in bestiality!” Derek cracks up and Stiles feels his cheeks flush crimson.

“Your father would be sad, if he knew his lessons on deduction and reason have fallen to the rot of your over-fired teenage hormones. This is your brain. This is your brain on porn and this is Stiles.” Derek points out his disheveled appearance and tenting pants. “Did it get your rocks off to research how to sculpt a dog’s boner?”

“You mean a dog dick like yours. Go hump a couch, Derek.”

“For as much shit your wicked smart ass mouth spews, you are too naïve for this kind of joint. Why the fuck did Dylan hire you?”

Embarrassment rolls through Stiles, “He said I was cheap and made customers happy, well most of them. He called me the sweetest whore on East Old Main.”

“That would be Dylan. Even though he’s an incubus, he was never right after he got out of show business.”

“Oh wow, my boss is a sex demon. That kind of explains a few things… you’re all sexual deviants for food pornography. Whatever, I’ll have you know he thought I was a natural.”

“A natural whore? Did you let him fuck you for the job?”

“No, asshole. He said I took to the job like a pro. Said my strong wrists could mold fondant faster than any other worker he had.”

“Probably from all the chocking-the-chicken practice since you hit puberty. Your dad must stock pile tissues to keep up with your demand. You reek of cum.”

“Don’t be such a jerk. The first time I see you in years and you’re fucking pulling out your junk like you do this show for all your servers. Or am I just special?”

Derek crowds up to Stiles, grabbing the barley-legal-whisky-eyed punk  by his wrist. When Stiles tries to step back, Derek curls the younger man’s long fingers to take over the tempo on the werewolf's dick. He growls when Stiles grip goes from reluctant to eager participant, worshiping his aching cock like perfection should.

“I’ll let you in on another werewolf secret, since I blew the big one anyway. Knots are special. We sense potential mates and only knot when we have feelings beyond lust… or desire… when we want a future with that person. So let me ask you Stiles, do you want to see my knot?”

“For the cake?”

“No, you idiot, for-“

“YES!” Stiles yells as he surges forward with such enthusiasm that he knocks the werewolf over and onto the metal counter. Diving into Derek’s mouth, he valiantly fights the older man’s tongue for dominance.  

The exchange is rough and passionate. It leaves Stiles straining in his pants. The press of his tight jeans is cutting off circulation to where all circulation should definitely be pooling, according to Stiles’ mind on frantic sex. The heat in his belly becomes too much and he is forced to forfeit his top position to Derek as Stiles reaches to free himself from his confining pants. Derek takes the opportunity and flips Stiles hard onto the metal surface, erupting a piping bag full of butter-cream frosting in a fountain all over Stiles' face.

Derek gasps at the sight of Stiles covered in strands of white. Rich vanilla scent and too sweet sugar melts as he swipes the cream away from Stiles’ eyes. He decides he likes the taste of Stiles' natural body odor with the salty tang of the teenager’s perspiration. Taking a handful he shoves Stiles' flannel and under t-shirt up and tucks it in the boy’s noisy mouth. The kid always did wear too many layers. Hopefully he’ll learn from this to dress appropriately, so Derek will have easy access to the teen's body the next time.

He divests the younger man of his pants and Spiderman underwear  - _gee way to make this seem like jailbait, Stiles_. Discarding the idea of getting his lower half fully naked when he realizes the tight jeans won’t fit over his Converse shoes, he skips to the sweet part and smears a trail of the cream down Stiles chest. Swirling the frosting around a pebbled nipple and down Stiles’ happy trail and smashing the fluffy icing through Stiles coarse pubic hair, under his balls, to his back entrance, and then traces up Stiles sex to the very tip, he reaches over to the squashed bag with a star tip. Just for aesthetics; he places a piped star line circling the glans like a ring.

Derek moves the tip to the slit and practices a shell design, but Stiles cock twitches with a minor pulse loving the temperature play of the cool frosting to his overheated cock head. The leaking pre-cum proves an unstable surface for his art work, dissolving the sugar and running off to splatter against Stiles' inner thigh.

“Confection would be more popular if piping bags were used more in the bedroom, instead of the kitchen.” Hot breath from Derek’s words against his balls has Stiles squirming to find Derek’s mouth. And Derek doesn't disappoint as his tongue cuts through the goopy icing and traces the bulging vein all the way up the underside of Stiles’ cock.

Stiles howls through the thick material stuffed in his mouth. Hoping to find purchase in the werewolf’s hair to commit Derek’s sinful wandering mouth to his needy erection; Stiles is disappointed when the werewolf pins his wrists across his chest and he is forced to endure Derek’s torture. Derek wanders for a while, taking his time to enjoy his treat, before trailing south and savoring the Stiles' cock head with a few quick laps. The teasing continues until Stiles swears his balls will fall off, mouthing off to the werewolf through his shirt like a gag.

Derek relents in his travels and suctions his lips over the fire engine red head. Sliding easily to the base, Derek is set to his milking task and quickly bobs his head over Stiles’ pole. Faster and faster until Stiles' lust driven whines and grunts elevate into muffled screams. A stream of seed pulses down Derek’s throat. Salt mixing with sweet in the best snack Derek has ever devoured.

Weak as kitten in his post orgasm haze, Stiles pulls to free his wrists from Derek’s tight hold. Derek lets him and Stiles' turns to his side to rest his aching back bones from the uncomfortable metal table. As he twists, he mistakenly puts his hand down on a rolling pin and falls to his stomach against the hard metal, ass front and center of Derek’s line of sight.    

“Let me fuck you Stiles.” It’s not so much a question as it is a demand, but Stiles is very much interested in Derek’s proposal, until he sees Derek is holding the ribbed rolling pin he just slipped on.

Stiles yanks the drool saturated shirts from his mouth and over his head. “No, I want your cock, not a cold rod.”

The thin silicon roller Derek is proposing is more for pattern work than heavy flattening jobs. It only measures two fingers. But six weeks on the job has taught him to respect the tools of the trade and respect is the last place Stiles thinks would be found in a colon.   

Derek realizes he needs to sweeten the deal. He finds a lukewarm bowl of ganache and grabs a decorating press that resembles a caulking gun. He draws the chocolate into the plunger, before turning back to a wary looking Stiles.

“Sacrilegious.”

“You won’t be saying that when you get a taste of my chocolate knot.” Thick eyebrows taunt Stiles with Derek’s assurance.

“Why can’t we just stretch me out the normal way? You know fingers and lube.” Stiles whines, not liking how much Derek is engrossed in his bakery play. “It is unsanitary for me and decorating tools. I’ll have nothing clean to use for your sister’s cake.”

“I’ll buy new ones for Dylan, besides there is nothing else good enough for my knot. I’m going to stretch you wide and breed you with my baby batter. Then, I’ll eat your sweet bum out. My milk and the dark chocolate... gods, milk chocolate is my favorite." Derek licks his lips, already savoring the taste. "Werewolves, by the way, have long tongues, even in our human form; you've never felt anything like it. I promise. ”

“And I thought dogs could die from chocolate. No it’s just your attitudes that make people want to shoot you.” Stiles grouses, but faces the table, folding his chest to the table, and resting his forehead against the cool surface. Derek chokes as Stiles parts his globes exposing the tight bud of his back entrance. He pushes his hips back, wiggling a stunned Derek to proceed.

“I have wanted this for years, Stiles.”

A hand falls to Stiles' left hip and right ass cheek. Derek bends over him and leaves a trail of love bites down Stiles’ spine. 

“Hmmmm,” Stiles irritation with Derek’s stubbornness disappears as the warm liquid pushes into his passage along with hot Derek’s finger. Stiles can feel some of the ganache expel and Derek’s tongue chasing the ooze as it coats his balls. Derek wastes no time, more careful to depress the plunger into Stiles, instead of making a sticky mess of Stiles' privates. All the while he prepares the younger man by torturing Stiles with swirling digits and an occasional tongue thrust.

“You taste so good,” Derek huskily whines. Two fingers deep in Stiles’ tight cavern, Derek takes a moment to stroke his forgotten member.

The clatter of the ribbed silicone rolling pin landing on the floor echoes in the kitchen. Derek can no longer wait to take his chosen mate; knot and breed him like instincts dictate.

Laura must have known what Stiles was becoming to him when she tore their tattered lives from this small town. He was too young. It’s probably also why she was eager to return. She wanted to see Derek recover from the damage of Kate’s betrayal.

It explains the sudden stink about the perfectly fine cake. Derek saw how excited she was with the damn thing. It made no sense to him, when she alpha-commanded Derek to accompany her back to the cake shop in a snit for a proper demonstration. In all his years as a beta to Laura, she had never given him such a ridiculous command. But when the scent of burned sugar, oak bark, and clover wafted from the bakery, the beta knew it wasn’t the smell of confection, it was the boy he left behind eight years ago. This was all a cover to reunite Derek and Stiles.

And now he has Stiles ready and willing. Derek thrusts his cock into the tight passage. Two fingers hardly enough preparation, even with the gooey mess lubricating his mate’s ringed walls. Short of breath from the pain as Derek spears his way through with his unrelenting need. Stiles hunches in, trying to move away from the harsh intrusion, but Derek sinks his blunt teeth into Stiles' shoulder and pins him with his weight, until he successfully navigates the narrow passage.

His balls rest in the hot dispelled mess coating their joined forms. Air bubbles pop in the thick chocolate, seeping past Derek’s engorged cock and Stiles’ ring in a disturbing shade of color. Derek waits patiently for Stiles to recover his arousal, content to swipe a finger along his dick inside Stiles' entrance, and taste his concoction in the making.

 _Needs milk and salt_. His heavy balls agree.

“It hurts, you’re too big.” Stiles plea is shushed by Derek grabbing hold of his shoulder and drawing the pain from the rapid breech. Stiles' relief is immediate and if possible he pushes back onto Derek, allowing him to sink deeper than ever.

“Move…”

Derek rolls his hips gently easing Stiles into a fluid motion. Once he senses Stiles is just as eager, he gets down to business. He has pups to breed and bake his batter in the oven. His mouth is watering to see how his recipe turns out.

“Uhhh, there!”

Already knowing he has hit the younger man’s prostate, demonstrated by the wild quaking of Stiles’ internal muscles gripping his dick tighter, Derek tilts his hips to curve his driving thrusts to strike the hidden gem again. Stiles' panting hitches turn to desperate pleading. The flutter of quick spasms and the bow of Stiles' spine arching forward, clues Derek into his mates’ impending orgasm. Cumming untouched, the younger man releases before Derek's hand can pump his mate to completion.

Stiles flops forward too tired to hold his weight. Derek carries Stiles still impaled by his cock over to the pile of stacked sugar and flour bags to rest. Lumpy, but it’s a more comfortable place to knot than the hard table. Derek spots a strawberry shaped timer and sets it for an hour, the time his knot will take to deflate and his treat will be ready.

Derek can feel his knot swelling and on the next thrust he sinks the ping pong sized bump in past Stiles' outer ring. He seats himself upright, so Stiles can ride his cock, but Derek controls his mate’s dips and pulls as to not unseat his thickening knot. If it were to slip out now, he wouldn't be able to fit his cock back in and his milk chocolate wouldn't temper correctly. Derek can feel the size has increased to golf ball size. “Feel the veins and the tissue. Map it with your ass, so you can sculpt it later.”

Stiles' incoherent babble let’s Derek know their lesson will take several knotting rounds to fully grasp the volume of his breeding organ. Sweat runs between their collective bodies, Stiles' hands run the length of Derek’s knees to his hip as he grows more and more aroused from the stretching knot pushing the limit of his passage.

No longer sensitive, Stiles is just needy for heady release as Derek feels his girth assume the final size of a tennis ball. He roars his release as Stiles clenches his inner muscles with a second orgasm.

Knotting Stiles completely, the werewolf pours his seed into his bitch and rolls them back on the platform. White particles of flour poof in a cloud around their entwined forms and they drift to sleep.

Derek wakes only minutes later when Stiles spurt of cool cum drips off the younger man’s shoulder and splats Derek in the face. The werewolf collects the offering and swipes it into his mouth just as a sleepy Stiles turns his head, straining his neck to reach Derek behind him, and share a post coital kiss.

The next hour or so, is spent in ups and downs as Derek rides his prolonged ejaculation and Stiles’ grows heavier and heavier with seed. Derek is proud to see Stiles so full with his breeding juice. A small bump has formed on the younger man’s flat stomach. _It has to be our rising cake,_  Derek thinks and shivers as he releases again into Stiles hungry mouth. The younger man's passage deftly works every drop of milk.

When Derek settles back from his tenth or twentieth eruption, Stiles rubs his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand resting on the swell of his stomach. “Derek, er… I can’t actually carry pups, right?”

“Don’t be stupid Stiles. Human men can’t get pregnant… unless they're witch-born sparks.”

“Wow witches are real too, huh.” Stiles wiggles back to rest. Locked on his mate, his eyes droop shut and his mind wanders. His mother’s oddities touch his consciousness with a hazy premonition. How she always seemed married to the land. The old world knowledge, the books, the trinkets… but his exhaustion shuts his brain down and falls to sleep as Derek begins to quake in another spurt below him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Stiles, every part of you is delicious. But I think I over indulged, my stomach hurts.” Derek laps at his messy face with tongue searching the vestiges of cum, chocolate, and Stiles adorning his scruffy mouth despite his statement.

“Eww, don’t try to kiss me until you’ve washed out your mouth.”

Stiles mood quickly soured once he realized he could barely stand, let alone sit, for the six plus hours it will take to finish Laura’s cake. She is really going to have a fit when the final product proves just as poor as the first attempt. Stiles never saw Derek's knot, but oh can he feel it.

The utter disgusting chocolate, sweat, and cum smears their messy lovemaking has left all over the commercial kitchen needs attention. They are going to waste over an hour just cleaning up. Stiles is going to be stuck here all night!

“Pick up the soiled flour bags and toss them out back. My boss is going to kill me for all the wasted ingredients.”

Derek sleepily complies and helps clear up their mess, and then finds the boss’s shower stall in the back to wash up. Stiles really wants to join him, he is sticky everywhere, but he has dishes to do.

Rinsing the pipet and plunger in water, before tossing them aside for the water to heat up, Stiles checks his chirping phone and finds a text from Laura.

_I don’t want to taste your guys’ ass sex on my cake. I know where your fingers have been, so forget the redo. Tell Derek he better have the creampuffs for tomorrow’s wedding brunch or I’ll cut off his balls._

Stiles looks over to the order cart in the corner and spots Laura’s pile of puff balls waiting for cream insert -a step best left for the morning of the event. He reads through the order slip and hobbles to the refrigerator to collect the bag of blackberry cream Stiles was going to use on Laura’s redo. He reaches into the sink and pulls out the dirty plunger and begins filling Laura’s order.

_Derek will appreciate the flavor notes._

 

 

The end :)

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed it, Dyl's Dough, you don't say the s. Wouldn't it be weird if Dylan O'Brien was Old Man Dyl and Stiles came to work for him?
> 
> 11/24/2014: Check out the other parts to the series! Sorry it took so long!
> 
> The second part is all about the fallout from Stiles' dirty joke.
> 
> Thanks for reading -AzulMountain


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